Rogan Whitenails

Monday, February 23, 2015

Logic Distractors and Salvors

Of that that a rose's gyres
and fetches bring to its contours,Of roseness relinquished, I
am apparition brought to you.Of that that quiddity
surrenders of itself, I am yours.Someone talked of me, advised
someone else to urge me to slewMy telescope to nearer
aspects, and, scarce, I glimpsed myselfIn the demi-plasma that
surrounds the rose, and that would proveTo be the last allusion; and
I take quinoa from the shelf,And that will be my last
meal, and I will till a tender grooveWith my fork, pour in apple
cider vinegar, and no oneWill see me swallow like a
child; the last allusion to me,Adamantine, the last allusion
to concrete "whatness". NoneShall speak of me
again.

Sunday, February 22, 2015

Question to myself: What does predictability have to do with my reliance on what people say over how they say it?

I was never that unpredictable, with
conscience of consonance, and so when I said "aglet", you knew very
soon I would follow it with "Salgado", but I was the God of shingle.
As a little boy, I would stand in the middle of the driveway, casting stones I
intuited as bad towards the road, those that were good towards the house. I was
never that unpredictable, but when I got older I did sometimes throw the good
ones towards the road.

Saturday, February 21, 2015

What people don't do.

What people don't do.What people don't do.What they do do.What people are not.What people are not.What they are.What artists don't draw.What they do draw.What poets don't write.What they could, painterly.

Ontology in Birdworld

And being took years off my
life;By cage of the Bleeding Heart Dove,What epitaph speaks of this
cold, What aphorism of this love?And being born made me so
old; And I try to pull on this
glove, With mitthorn or envelope
knifeOf gaunted age, one of a
pair Handed me by my daughter;
where The tanagers sing their
monodies, And false wounds and false
memories Of leaving my sister alone Fade: avast confabulation!And my daughter’s smile is
mid-tone:Synsolution, evolution Reuses design – note walnut And the cerebral cortex – butI do not see this living
smile Simulacra, soft hiatus. If a fish's lips evoke
vile,Grey urinary meatus,Do not slander me in dreadfulRedolence; let me lie
peacefulIn this Kingston grave,
whilst my wordsAre found in poems of Hart
Crane.Outside the cage, native
birds,Praline between walnut and
brain,Peer in at the bleeding heart
dove,As I pull on the other glove.